


Love Bites (And So Do I)

by KiwiBaer



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Come Marking, Established Relationship, Frottage, Listen I don't know how to tag this it's just a lot of biting, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexy Wrestling, rough-housing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24769582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBaer/pseuds/KiwiBaer
Summary: Geralt’s mouth curved up into a wicked smirk, the fire of a game in his eyes. His lips moved to Jaskier’s ear. “Stop me, then. You said we can’t. Stop me.” Geralt breathed and Jaskier had to close his eyes at the sensation, the heat that traveled from Geralt’s breath down his body. Settled in a delicious pool of sensation at the base of his spine.---Jaskier's just trying to get ready for a big performance. Geralt wants to bite him all over. It becomes a game, just like everything with them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 239
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Love Bites (And So Do I)

**Author's Note:**

> So, just a brief warning. Jaskier kind of resists the biting, but like, it's all 100% consensual. Jaskier's just a fool who SOMETIMES tries to conform to public standards.

Jaskier’s gasp was strangled, sharp with a mixture of pain and surprise. His fingers dug lines into Geralt’s shoulders as he wilted. Eyes pinched shut, back arching against the shivers that ran along its length. Jaskier leaned into the assault of teeth. His eyes burst open a second later, wide and wild, when Geralt’s jaw tightened and he bit down _harder_.

Fingernails clawed into Geralt’s shirt, digging for wounds now as Jaskier trembled all over. There was pale panic in his mind, and bright fireworks.

“Ger—”

Geralt’s mouth released instantly and Jaskier sucked in a hiss, blood rushing back towards the wound and down into his belly, igniting fires across it all. He panted as his toes curled and his fingers pressed harshly into Geralt. Then, wound tight and released, his head dropped. A moment for him to try and recover from the ruthless bite while Geralt laved his tongue over scorched skin.

Jaskier’s voice came out weak, barely a whimper as he tried his lover’s name again. “Geralt.”

“Hmm?” Geralt tipped his head further, the sound distracted as he continued licking over the wound. The moment he teased it with a scrape of his canines, Jaskier gasped and straightened. He shoved a palm between them, sending himself back a step instead of the stone hewn Witcher.

Geralt leaned back, lazily wiping his mouth into his shoulder and fixing Jaskier with a raised brow. Unaffected, if a bit annoyed by the distance between them now. He reached for Jaskier’s wrist, drawing Jaskier back the step he’d earned.

“Geralt, hey—You big—Ugh!” Jaskier resisted the pull, indignant protest falling from his swollen lips. “You big _oaf_.” He scowled, snatching Geralt’s wrist in return and yanking his arms forward. Geralt leaned with it good-naturedly, arching another brow as their faces drew dangerously close together with Jaskier’s pull. Jaskier grunted and quickly placed a hand over Geralt’s mouth just as he caught the flash of those dangerous teeth.

“No!” He protested. “You can’t!”

“Camf?” Geralt breath wreathed hot and stifled against Jaskier’s fingers and he shivered.

“Can _not_.” He waved his free hand wildly, grand circles of emphasis. “You know as well as I that I have a show to preform tonight for the bored people of this humble little village. All the way down in that charming, candlelit square. Candlelit! It’s going to be lovely! Inspiring! And I _cannot_ be seen with a collar of your marks, it’s not respectable!”

Geralt made a rude noise against his palm and Jaskier huffed at it.

“Yes, I sometimes know the meaning of the word.”

Jaskier knew what was going to happen next as Geralt’s lips parted, but still bit his lip as Geralt’s tongue traced wetly across the planes of his hand. The Witcher just tilted his head and closed his eyes, content to lap at the skin offered to him.

Jaskier yanked his palm away, scandalized and sputtering. Some protest, he had to have some protest to this whole matter. Not that he could think of the actual words to say.

Geralt’s cat eyes opened again and he was still unimpressed, though with the faint tease of a smirk now. He stepped forward, crowding into his bard, and drew Jaskier to his chest, leaning to his ear. His voice was a rough growl. “You love my marks, Jaskier.” His lips drew closer and he was allowed a moment to trace them down the curve of Jaskier’s jaw, mouthing at his throat. Jaskier tensed at the first prick of teeth. “You usually beg for them.”

His voice was smug, _way too_ smug and Jaskier bristled for a moment. The only reason he was begging for anything was because it was usually so hard to convince the Witcher to cause any sort of pain. And yes, Jaskier really fucking liked the bites and didn’t have the common sense to stop even if it left painfully obvious evidence behind. But he had to try today, otherwise… Otherwise?

Well. His festival outfit did have a high collar if he buttoned it fully…

“Geralt, we _can’t_.” And despite the emphasis, despite the hand pressing into Geralt’s collarbone, they both heard the purr behind it. The temptation for something more. Offering a dangerous game, playing with the concept of consent in that messy _no means yes_ , sort of way.

Geralt tipped his head to the side, considering Jaskier for a moment, before humming low in his throat. He slid his hand up, placing his thumb to the bruise he’d marked on Jaskier’s throat and pressing. Nerves reignited and Jaskier bit into his lip, cock filling at every prickle across his skin.

Geralt leaned back down, breath fanning hot against the other side of his neck. “You know what to say to make me stop.”

There was a heartbeat where the word played across his tongue, Jaskier given the power to end things respectably with only one mark on his skin. He held it there, knowing that if he didn’t say it there would be a mess to clean up, there would be time wasted and he’d go to the festival looking more whore than bard.

And oh how sinfully delightful that image was. Jaskier could probably afford to be more ashamed of it.

Yet, without giving it much more thought than the blissful sensation washing over him, Jaskier caught Geralt’s gaze. They breathed out together and then Jaskier was shaking his head faintly, promising himself with his silence. Still, he pressed his hand firmer against Geralt’s chest and the wolf was sent back a step closer to the door, Jaskier meeting his eye through every moment.

Geralt’s lips curved up into a wicked smirk, the fire of a game in his eyes. His lips moved to Jaskier’s ear. “Stop me, then. You said we can’t. Stop me.” Geralt breathed and Jaskier had to close his eyes at the sensation, the heat that traveled from Geralt’s breath down his body. Settled in a delicious pool of sensation at the base of his spine. The Witcher’s voice was different than before, less careful and warning and now challenging in the dark lilt of it. If Jaskier wanted to pretend like he didn’t want this, he’d have to try harder than just pushing.

Now, they were truly playing.

And Geralt was leaning in, lips parting as he drew closer to Jaskier’s exposed throat. Adrenaline pulsed in Jaskier, his heart suddenly at speed and the back of his head tingling. Faster than he realized he could move, Jaskier was grasping harshly at Geralt’s hair and holding him back with a gasp from them both. He twisted and wiggled to get distance from those teeth, thoughts _loud_.

Geralt’s hand latched to Jaskier’s wrist, a grunt pulled from him at the yank, but he was digging fingers into bone and grabbing onto Jaskier’s waist. Rearing his head, grabbing and moving at the same time, Geralt pitched Jaskier’s whole body forward. With a yelp, Jaskier slammed his palm against Geralt’s chest and pushed back, Geralt’s hands both occupied on grasping and resisting. In a battle of strengths, Jaskier would lose every time, even with the Witcher holding back.

Instead, Jaskier ducked his head and dipped below his own arm, the one with his fingers still tangled into Geralt’s hair. He twisted Geralt’s hold on his ribs, only caught by his hand now, but as he spun he felt Geralt’s grip lessen. If he held on while the bard turned, Jaskier would probably break something. It was easy to use the Witcher’s care against him, and with one vicious pull against the loosened hold, he was suddenly free standing.

He let out a whoop, thrilled to have escaped even a loose grapple.

Victory didn’t last but a second, as Geralt took advantage of his turned back and shoved hi bodily against the door, hands on his shoulders. Jaskier felt the puff of breath, the threat of teeth, and let out a strangled, “No!”

He dropped. Ducked again to escape a hold, but this time he stayed down as he darted underneath Geralt’s barring arms. Sprinting for the other side of the room, he tried to gain distance to breathe and think. Overwhelmed. He just needed a second, a _plan_.

There was a rough chuckle from behind him as Geralt—how could he be so _fast_ —grabbed him by the waist and hauled him off his feet. Jaskier buzzed in his grasp. His brain churned for the next move, but before he could even wiggle his hips, he felt the sharp nip of fangs at his shoulder. A rough shudder ran through Jaskier’s body all at once and he was frozen with nothing but a harsh pant leaving his lips.

Geralt’s jaw tightened into a proper bite and holy gods above, Jaskier whimpered at the sting of it. He was more sensitive than he thought he could be, his whole shoulder alight with feeling. His heart stuttered and then he was melting back against Geralt’s chest. His skin throbbed at the bite when that mouth drew away to breathe hotly on burning skin. His cock throbbed at the next tease of teeth slightly higher on his neck. His fingers went to claw at the hands on his waist, readying for the next attack once he added a breathless, “ _Harder_ , fuck.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind him left his neck prickling hot and his belly full of heat. “Giving up already, little lark? Thought you’d last a little longer.” He trailed rough kisses higher until his teeth were catching the edge of Jaskier’s ear and tugging in a way that had Jaskier groaning. He was struggling to keep up. Geralt’s words dropped to a whisper, just a purr against the shell of his ear. “What would your audience think?”

And Jaskier was flushed everywhere once over, sweltering in the burn of Geralt’s words. The thought of going to the boozing populace outside and preforming covered in damnable evidence, disheveled and _marked_. Oh, what a filthy show that could make, singing praise for the Witcher who teased bruises from his skin with sharp teeth.

Bruises Jaskier couldn’t help but beg for.

Yet, the rest of the Geralt’s words registered sluggishly, where he heard the slightly disappointed tone behind them. Barely audible beneath the horny gravel. Pressed against his chest as he was now, Jaskier felt the Witcher’s heart beating steadily into his back, familiar enough with its rhythm to know it was quickened. As was the puffs of breath at his nape. Geralt was exhilarated, just as much as Jaskier, by their little game. They both loved the struggle, just a bit, like a dance in their rooms.

Despite the bliss of lips on his throat, Jaskier knew he couldn’t give in yet. He was hardly one to disappoint a lover and he wanted to work Geralt up even further as well. See how fast he could get that steady heartbeat going.

Jaskier’s fingertips danced over Geralt’s knuckles, smoothing out from claws to feel how the joints shifted and flexed as the hold tightened for a moment, distrusting. Then, a second later relaxed. The Witcher eased in Jaskier’s surrender. Eased into a scorching kiss behind Jaskier’s ear, another scrape of teeth soon after, just to tease. Jaskier let himself gasp at it, louder. Voice soft and breathy as he whispered, “Darling, please, I…”

He turned his head, lips parted and eyes closed. A gesture identical to any other night, pleading for the kisses Geralt could be so stingy with.

Geralt leaned in to meet him, ignoring the shift of Jaskier’s body against his. And then he was _wheezing_ as Jaskier’s elbow connected solidly just below his ribs, into a relaxed and vulnerable belly. His teeth crashed back together in a grimace at the blow. Jaskier took his chance, slitting his body sideways and dancing out from Geralt’s hold before a recovery could be made.

Jaskier wasn’t one to fight, he detested the idea really. But if he was ever forced into one, he didn’t need Witcher training to tell him not to play _fair_. Soft spots would always be the first target in his mind. It was only Jaskier’s general fondness for Geralt’s cock and hopefully more fun to be had later, that he hadn’t gone for a lower blow.

Time was of the essence, as it was really only surprise that halted the Witcher at such a blow. Already Jaskier was scrambling in his headstart, sprinting deeper into the room. A rough growl from behind told him Geralt was either absolutely incensed or delighted by the continued game.

Jaskier was already shaking himself from his doublet when he felt fingers claw at the collar, and through unintended teamwork, they yanked it from him together. A second wind found the bard, nearly caught again already, sending him forward at a greater speed. He ducked at the next large swipe from behind, feeling the breeze of Geralt’s grab.

He was only guessing when the attacks would come, which earned him a firm smack to the side of the head as he turned to the left and straight into Geralt’s reaching palm. He got a few fingers tangled into his hair for his mistake and turned to yank free. Tears burst from his eyes at the rip to his scalp, his pain gasp going unnoticed as he faced Geralt again. He batted the hand from his hair.

Geralt raised a brow at him, taking a step forward as Jaskier took an identical step back. They repeated the motion, and when Jaskier ducked, trying to get around Geralt (the wall was too close to his back, he could be cornered) the spun together in a circle. Neither wanted to take their eyes of each other. A few more matched steps, another attempt at getting around Geralt.

Jaskier burst out laughing when Geralt got a hand on his hip and yanked him into his chest. There was a startled look on Geralt’s face for the briefest moment, Jaskier beaming. “Sir Witcher, if you wanted a dance, you should have just _asked_.” He flirted dangerously, grabbing onto Geralt’s waist in return and dragging him through a high-tempo’ed two step. He reveled in the wild surprise on Geralt’s face. He was also surprising the Witcher, wasn’t he?

Geralt snarled at him, and Jaskier caught his reaching hands, dipping away just before he could get caught again. He heard the steps behind him, danced around a fallen pack on the floor, that Geralt effortlessly leapt over. His grin fell to panic.

They were almost to the bed now and Jaskier didn’t have a plan.

The plan wouldn’t have mattered. A shoulder connected with Jaskier’s spine and then Jaskier was being tackled to the mattress. Full, muscled Witcher weight landed on his back, shoving him bodily down. Jaskier couldn’t hear past his own rushed breath to know if anything cracked inside. Nothing but a croak left his lips.

When teeth dug harshly just under his hairline, catching muscle, Jaskier began thrashing beneath the weight. No air in his lungs to shout. Barely anywhere to gain purchase. He threw his weight back against Geralt, wheezing. The tears were back in his eyes. After another bite that sent stars flashing behind his eyelids (or maybe it was the lack of oxygen), one of his flailing limbs connected with _something_ and Geralt grunted.

Jaskier rolled into it, suddenly losing pressure on his lungs and intaking air _wildly_. He dropped back to his belly in an instant and crawled for the other side of the bed, for distance. Fingers tightened around his ankle and he yelped at the first tug, kicking out with his other foot. It was caught before it caused harm and he was reward with canines sinking deep into the meat of his calf. He cried out, like a wounded dog, because that one _stung_. The sound earned him a gentle lave of Geralt’s tongue, but his fingers were already catching on the corner of a pillow. He swung it blindly behind him and heard a muffled sound when it connected with the Witcher’s occupied face.

Hands shifted to his hips tugged him to the side and Jaskier was forced onto his back, despite throwing his whole weight against those palms. He felt heat zing across his spine as Geralt pressed him down with ease.

They made eye contact and Geralt was smirking, victorious. The heat burned hotter inside Jaskier. Geralt could set him on fucking fire with a _look_. His eyes were an accelerant, his mouth a match.

Geralt leaned in, preparing to spread the more fire with sharp nips and scrapes, but Jaskier had the other pillow in his hand. He smashed it against the Witcher’s face, and then when Geralt dodged to the side, he battered him with it once more. Quick, desperate little smacks that damaged nothing but patience.

Geralt ripped the pillow from his grasp and _snarled_. Jaskier was already creeping back towards the headboard, with one hand raised and a sheepish smile, at the dangerous flash in Geralt’s golden eyes.

What happened next was a tangled scramble, an absolute mass of limbs and sheets. They wrestled, caught up in the knots of one another while hand grabbed wrist and leg hooked hip. They rolled, a senseless rhythm as neither position above nor below gave either advantage they flipped for. Jaskier’s palms shoved under the Witcher’s jaw, his fingers tangled in his hair, trying to hold his jaws a bay. Geralt clawing for a hold on the slippery, squirming body and just grabbing fabric. They both panted, rough and violent. With the rolling and grinding and wrestling, it was a roiling sea of sensation.

Jaskier shouted as he brought a hand in front of him, his forearm bitten into. And he gathered more fully a handful of silver hair and yanked with everything he had, hissing through his teeth. They were playing with something feral between them now, an energy that was sweeping them up and up into its grasp. Geralt’s inferno bringing out something untamable in the younger man.

And with his new grip, Jaskier was suddenly forcing Geralt’s head down. There was resistance at first, born of confusion as he was moved, but then Geralt’s face was buried in Jaskier’s collar. The heat of a racing pulse against his cheek. Jaskier’s other hand reached down, caught a handful of Geralt’s ass and grasped harshly. He rocked up into the pinning weight of Geralt’s hips.

Just like that, something broke between them.

Jaskier had his eyes closed as he pulled and grinded against Geralt’s solid body. “Fuck, please—I can’t—I need—” He couldn’t find his words, intent on chasing the friction between them more than on an end to his sentence. He couldn’t remember being this hard. He _ached_. “Don’t stop—I need— _Fuck,_ love—”

Geralt shoved Jaskier’s wrist down and Jaskier arched into it, bucking wildly. He threw one leg over Jaskier’s hip and suddenly there was a sturdy thigh pressed flush against Jaskier’s cock and he was nearly crying with relief.

“Yes! Yes, fuck—fuck—” He tipped his head back, wishing he was still digging his fingers into the meat of Geralt’s ass. He’d bruise the skin if he could manage it. “Y-your fucking _thighs_ are a fucking _dream_ , Ger—”

Geralt snorted and nibbled at Jaskier’s throat. The game was over and Jaskier was resisting nothing but the need to come right away.

Though from the way Jaskier bucked his hips, he wasn’t really trying too hard to resist anything. “Harder!” The words were a demand. Jaskier struggling against Geralt’s grip for a moment, twisting up.

Geralt’s lips arched against Jaskier’s damp neck. “Any harder and you’ll bruise for days.”

Jaskier cock _throbbed_ at the promise of it. He was drowning in magma. “ _Good_. Geralt, _harder,_ you useless—"

Geralt bit down harder. The sharp edges of his teeth tearing at skin, sparking through Jaskier’s senses. He arched again and huffed, grunted from the hurt and loving every drawn out second of it. Fuck, there was a thunderstorm in his skin, in Geralt’s fire. Sparks and lightning and lava. He was running out of heat metaphors.

Jaskier clawed at the hands pinning him down, thrusting against the thigh smashed between his trembling legs. Promptly forgot about metaphors as friction left him gasping.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” He huffed, shoving himself flush to Geralt’s mass, leaning into the next bite. “Almost, almost—Stop—fuck, don’t s--”

“Stop?” Geralt teased.

“ _Don’t_.”

Geralt’s teeth sank in again, jaw tightening and the sparks were free and burning. Throwing a log atop a pile of coals, scattering the embers. The bite was harsh enough to leak fire when Geralt lapped over it and Jaskier was spilling into his trousers with a strangled sound, rutting desperately into his own mess.

All at once, Jaskier dropped to the bed, a limp husk of a man. He panted freely after being wound tighter than ever, extinguished in an instant. His wrists flexed weakly under Geralt’s palm and they were dropped instantly.

Geralt pulled his leg from Jaskier’s shaking thighs and swung it back over his hips, shuffling until he was kneeling over the bard’s heaving chest. Jaskier slitted his eyes and tipped his head, catching Geralt’s gaze with a lazy haze. A soft smirk. Geralt’s hands were already wrestling with his waistband, fighting to release his cock.

Jaskier swallowed to wet his throat.

“You want to paint me with come, Wolf?” Jaskier started. His body was worn and exhausted, but not his tongue and not his thoughts, not fully. He knew what he could give his Witcher now.

Geralt held his cock in palm, holding Jaskier’s gaze for a moment. Jaskier trailed his hands up those wide stretched thighs, feeling how the leather stretched and his muscles pressed. The bard licked his lips, tipped his head.

A palm was dropped over his mouth and he blinked into Geralt’s eyes for a moment, on the verge of a scowl. But the hand didn’t press or smother and Jaskier got the hint, dragging his tongue against the ragged skin offered him. He shivered as his tongue scraped calluses, knowing the hand he licked would soon be on Geralt’s cock. Knew how those calluses could catch just right, so deliciously rough. Jaskier nipped at the palm when he was done, giving back a little of what he’d received.

He wished he was close enough to see Geralt’s pupils blow out at the bite. The Witcher yanked his hand away with a shudder of his own. He was grasping himself in an instant, sighing into the touch.

Jaskier showed teeth, a feral grin. “Bites are nice, right? I love it when you sink your fangs into me, Wolf.” Jaskier tipped his head, shoving off the wounds he couldn’t see, yet felt the tug and sting of. “But it’s not enough to mark me with your teeth, is it? To leave bruises and aches alone. You want to mark me with your come too.”

Geralt’s breaths were rough. He was never loud, never whimpered and whined the way Jaskier liked to. But this, the huffs of air, they were the Witcher’s moans. The closest Jaskier would get without a finger against his prostate and Jaskier’s luxuriates in the tempo of his air. If only he could feel Geralt’s heart again.

Geralt wrist twisted and he was shuddering again. He reached down, tangling his fingers into Jaskier’s chemise and wrenching it open. The bard watched Geralt’s eyes roam, knew he was taking in a canvas painted red and purple. His handiwork.

“The marks I can see, _they_ can see. But only you will smell yourself on me, all night.” Jaskier purred. Fed the possessive side of his Witcher he had to _coax_ out, begging to be cherished and kept to an ugly degree. “If I don’t play tonight we won’t be able to afford a bath—how long do you think I’ll smell like you?”

His fingers dug into Geralt’s thighs as the Witcher’s eyes shuttered close for a moment. Jaskier continued, eyeing the desperation in Geralt’s strokes. “How often will you remember pinning me to this bed and biting me until I cried. Came for you, for your lovely thighs, for your bites, for—”

“ _Jaskier_.” Geralt said his name like it wounded him, shuddered with it. Spilled over his tight fingers and onto Jaskier’s collar and throat and across his jaw. Marked him as promised, come hot against Jaskier’s skin.

They stayed like that for several rapid heartbeats, panting. Recovering from the ashes left by their fire.

Eventually Geralt dropped to the bed beside Jaskier, the force bumping the slighter man’s body nearly off the mattress. He reached for Jaskier, to pull him in, but the bard was already slipping from the sheets and yanking his trousers off his legs. The movements earned him a disgruntled noise.

“Oh hush.” Jaskier admonished, looking over his shoulder as he stepped blindly towards the mirror across the room. “We’ve had our fun playing, but I really do have to preform tonight if you want to keep traveling with a living bard. I require _food_ Geralt and—”

He stripped the last of his clothing from his body and turned to the mirror. And promptly shrieked. “Melitele’s _tits_ , Geralt! Fuck!” Jaskier let out another strangled noise, leaning into the mirror to fully inspect the mess of himself.

At least a dozen bruises, all purpling bright and angry against his pale skin. One mark was even bloodied on his shoulder, Geralt having broken skin. He had a few more bites in random locations, such as his forearm and—as he twirled around in disbelief—one dark bruise on his calf.

He whirled on the Witcher, lazing across their shared bed, sputtering. “Am—Am I dating a leech?! Geralt, what the fuck did you do!”

Geralt fixed him with a steady look, clearly enjoying the glow across his limbs after a particularly satisfying wank. He tipped his head back into the pillows, breaking their gaze. “You’re blaming me?”

“Of—of course I bloody am! _You_ made me a _mess_! I’m not even sure my outfit will cover all these!” Heated words in the moment be damned, he didn’t _actually_ want to display any love bites for the world to see. “Fuck, why’d you bite so damn hard?”

Geralt smirked at the ceiling. “If I remember… you begged me to bite you harder on three occasions.” He rolled to his side, propped up and smug. “I was only giving the lark what he wanted.”

Jaskier spluttered again, pointing accusingly at the Witcher. But he found he had no words to argue. He _had_ wanted harder. It just… well, his horny brain didn’t think of all the consequences non-horny brained Jaskier would have to deal with! It wasn’t his fault Geralt made him lose his damn mind.

“I am _so_ getting you back for this, my dear Witcher. Mark my words…”

Geralt laughed meanly, dropping himself back onto his back and preparing to sleep while Jaskier stormed around the room, getting ready for his performance.

**Author's Note:**

> I both love this and hate this at the same time lmao. Hope you enjoyed!!!


End file.
